


I Loved a Maid as Fair as Summer

by darks1st3r, FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Ones Who Had Loved Her the Most [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children Having to Grow Up too Fast, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Dany Is Not in This Part of the Fic, F/M, Female Friendship, He's Worse in This, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Lyarra Stark is the Oldest Stark Daughter, Multi, Mutual Pining, Older Sansa, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, R Plus L Equals J, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sansa Poole, Sansa and the Starks Are Not Related, Sansa is a Poole, Seriously Littlefinger is the WORST, Unplanned Pregnancy, but he doesn’t know it yet, extended timeline, mix of book and show canon, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darks1st3r/pseuds/darks1st3r, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: Sansa Poole had once dreamed of being Lady of Winterfell, but now all she wanted was to be loved by the boy with the slow smile. However, the gods had other plans. When her charge, Lady Lyarra, is engaged to the crown prince of Westeros, Sansa is forced to leave the North she loves and her heart heads to the Wall as she makes her way South. When things go from bad to worse, all Sansa can do is try to protect the one person she has left, Lady Lyarra.Jon Snow has loved Sansa since before he understood what it meant to be a bastard, but her eyes had always gone to his brother Robb. Not wishing to see her belonging to another man, Jon heads to the Wall to swear off his heart that heads South.Lyarra Stark knows her duty. She looks every bit like her late aunt Lyanna save for the eyes and there had always been the possibility that she would be made to go South. She never believed in songs, but she never thought life could truly be so cruel. When her world falls apart, Lyarra must play the Game of Thrones in order to get herself and her fellow Northwomen home.





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What If](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707434) by [darks1st3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darks1st3r/pseuds/darks1st3r), [FromTheBoundlessSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea). 



When Sansa was a little girl, she dreamed of being Lady of Winterfell. Most girls did, but Sansa’s dreams were encouraged every time Lord Robb would smile at her and tell her that the plain dress she wore, brought out her Poole blue eyes, every time he kissed her hand, every time he would laugh and place a crown of winter roses on her copper hair. She dreamed of being his lady wife and giving him beautiful children with auburn hair and clear blue eyes.

Then she grew up, but only a little.

Soon, she began to love the boy with grey eyes that had flecks of another color in the light. She began to love the boy with the slow smile that would spread across his normally sullen features. She began to love the boy who would stutter a compliment. She began to love the boy who apologized when he accidentally stepped on her feet whenever they practiced dancing.

“Do you love my brother?” Lady Lyarra, the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Stark asked. The girl was two years younger than Sansa, only three and ten while Sansa had just reached her fifteenth nameday.

“When I was little, my lady,” Sansa said kindly as she continued with her sewing. A white wolf upon a grey handkerchief. Colors of a Stark bastard.

“A different brother has caught her eye,” Sansa’s younger sister, Jeyne, smiled.

“You like JON!” Arya, the youngest Stark girl, exclaimed.

“Shhh!” Septa Mordane and Sansa both hissed.

“I just think him really kind,” Sansa whispered, her cheeks burning.

“For a bastard,” Jeyne added.

“For a boy,” Sansa said, shooting her sister a glare. “He is much kinder than Theon and much quieter that Lord Robb.”

Sometimes Sansa dreamed that Lord Stark will have Jon legitimized and the two can marry. Or perhaps that he might marry her and become a Poole. In truth, Sansa would gladly become a Snow if it meant she could be with Jon, but her father was another story. Vayon Poole liked Jon enough as a boy, but he would never allow his eldest daughter to marry a bastard.

“Does he know?” Lady Lyarra prodded some more. The lady was pretty, a perfect mix of both her parents. She had the Stark look, but her eyes and nose were all Tully. She was kind too.

Whispers of a coming engagement to the crown prince had been whispered around Winterfell and Sansa knew that she would possibly have to go South to tend to her and Sansa couldn’t imagine Jon ever going South. He was made for the North.

“It is not polite for a lady to speak of such things with a boy.” Although he was almost a man.

“Jon thinks girls are gross anyway,” Arya said before stabbing her needle into her fabric, creating an even larger knot.

“Would you marry him if he asked?” Jeyne inquired.

“I—”

“Girls, less talking and more sewing,” Septa Mordane said in her usual tone.

“Yes, Septa,” the girls chorused.

—

“What’s his name?” Sansa asked softly as she looked at the direwolf pup in Jon’s arms.

Jon looked down at the albino pup and his slow smile grew. “Ghost.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“He’s a boy,” Jon said with a soft laugh.

A blush spread across Sansa’s cheeks. He remembered. “It’s still a pretty name.”

“Mine’s name is Greywind,” Robb said coming up from next to them, holding his own pup.

Sansa blushed. She may not like Robb in the way she had as a child, but it was still an honor to have him speak to her so plainly.

“Both pretty names. Will they need to be kenneled for when the king arrives?”

News of the king’s coming had set all of Winterfell alight with activity. Lady Catelyn had Sansa working tirelessly on new dresses for her daughters and even encouraged Sansa to make a simple dress for herself. Lady Stark had become like a mother to her since Sansa’s mother had passed eight years ago. The lady was always kind and generous. Some of the servants even joked that Sansa resembled Lady Stark when she first came to Winterfell.

“Not if we train them well enough,” Robb said, breaking Sansa from her thoughts.

“Sansa!” She heard Septa Mordane call. “Lady Stark needs you!”

“Coming, Septa!” She gave a brief curtsy to Robb and then Jon before rushing away.

—

Sansa stood with the rest of the servants when the king arrived. She, just as every other child of Winterfell, had grown up on the tales of Robert Baratheon’s glory during the rebellion. But he was not what Sansa had expected. He was fat and ruddy-faced. Jon looked more a king than the king did. Even so, there were echoes of the man who was said to have been rather handsome in his youth, but the years of drinking seemed to have eaten said man away.

They all bowed and the king exchanged words with Lord Stark before heading off to the Crypts.

Although Sansa usually helped with Lyarra, Jeyne would be with her for the rest of the day to tend to her needs and Sansa was to look after the princess and the little prince. Both were beautiful, like their mother, and seemed to be sweet when Sansa helped them and showed them to their rooms. She told them that they could get settled and ready for the feast and she would fetch them once they could come down.

Sansa rushed down the halls to get to her next duty of assisting to organize everything in the Great Hall. Her lady might be queen one day. She needed to know how to deal with these things.

She gasped when she turned a corner and ran straight into someone, her forehead bouncing off of the person’s chin. She stumbled back, only to have a hand grab her elbow and steady her.

“Are you alright?”

Sansa blinked up to Jon. She pressed her hand to her aching head and worried that a bruise might form. “I’m well. I should have slowed down.”

“It was my fault.” He stepped closer to her and Sansa could feel his warm breath fab across her hand and face. “Are you sure you are okay?”

He was so close.

“I—”

“There you are!” The two turned and Sansa stepped away quickly, pulling her arm from Jon’s grasp as she began to blush furiously. Robb came to them and paused, glancing between the two. “Did I disrupt something?”

“No,” Sansa answered quickly. “Jon was just helping me, but I really must be going.” She curtsied to the two before scurrying away, her face still flushed from the mortification of running into Jon as she had.


	2. Jon I

Stupid.

Jon stormed through the castle as he made his way to the training yard, which wasn’t in use.

Stupid. 

He could still see Sansa’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink as Robb came to them. He could still see his brother’s quick smile spread at the sight of the eldest Poole girl. 

Stupid. 

He was only a bastard. 

Whatever kindness Sansa ever extended him; it was only because she was being that: kind.

He thought of the feast that was starting, the feast he was not allowed to go to because it would be unseemly for a bastard like himself to go to a feast held for a king who had supposedly fathered a hundred bastards.

Jon pulled a sword from the rack and began to pound away at the practice dummy made of only a torn-up sack and a wooden beam. He probably shouldn’t even be calling it pounding. He was just hacking away at it. 

He wasn’t angry at Robb. He wasn’t angry at Sansa. Robb was the Heir of Winterfell and she was the daughter of one of House Stark’s most loyal vassals. Jon… Jon was just a bastard with nothing to offer her. 

He wasn’t even allowed to offer. 

He imagined there might be dancing at the feast. Jon could see it now. Sansa’s hand on Robb’s shoulder and his hand on her waist as they twirled around in a blur of red and grey and blue. She would look radiant.

“Is he dead yet?” a familiar voice called from behind him.

Jon turned to see his Uncle Benjen coming off of his horse. The boy smiled slowly and dropped his sword to go to his uncle.

Benjen embraced his nephew and patted his back heartily. “You got bigger,” he laughed. “I rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters,” he gave a lopsided smile. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you at the feast.”

“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to see a bastard in their midst.”

Benjen looked down. “Well, you’d always be welcome at the Wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there.” His eyes twinkled in some joke that was lost to Jon, but it got him thinking. 

“So, take me with you when you go back.” The words fell from his lips before he could even contemplate the thought that brought them. He’d heard the rumors of his sister’s possible engagement to the crown prince. Sansa always went where Lyarra went. It had been that way since they were children. Sansa would go South with the girls and Bran and there would be no reason for Jon to remain.

“Jon…”

“Father will let me if you ask him,” Jon said quickly. “I know he will.” Perhaps he might even tell Jon of his mother when he leaves. He used to dream that she was a lady who loved songs as much as Sansa did that she would cry as Sansa did once when a Southron minstrel with golden hair sang of Jonquil and Florian the Fool while playing the harp.

“The Wall isn’t going anywhere,” Benjen said slowly.

“I’m ready to swear your oath.” The girl who had his heart would never marry him and he refused to father a bastard. Half the oath was already fulfilled.

Benjen laughed sadly. “You don’t understand what you’d be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He imagined Sansa growing round with child. Her hands placed against the swell of her belly as a man who looked like Robb kissed her and held her in such a way Jon could only dream of being allowed to.

The very thought was painful.

“Alright,” Benjen said with a slight shake of his head. “If you know what it meant—” The sound of a door opening and closing interrupted them and Benjen looked back. “I better get inside.” He smiled. “Rescue your father from his guests.” He put his hand to Jon’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“We’ll talk later.” 

He watched Benjen go before turning back to practice.

“Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch,” an unfamiliar voice called out to him.

Jon turned to see the Imp coming in with a flagon of a drink Jon figures was not water. “What are you doing back there?”

“Preparing for a night with your family,” the Imp replied. He took a drink. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

“You’re Tyrion Lannister. The queen’s brother.” They were not questions. There weren’t many dwarfs in Winterfell, there weren’t any, actually.

“My greatest accomplishment.” He looked up to Jon. “And you, you’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?” 

The one blight on his father’s honor.

He closed his eyes. She was only being kind.

Jon turned away quickly.

“Did I offend you?” Tyrion called out to him. “Sorry.” Jon stopped and turned around as the Imp walked casually to him. “You are the bastard though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

“And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you a bastard.” Tyrion continued forward. “Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are.” He wouldn’t. “The rest of the world will not.” He knew that already. “Wear it like armor. It can never be used to hurt you.”

“The hell do you know about being a bastard?”

“All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” 

Tyrion walked away and all Jon could do was continue to let his frustration out on the hapless dummy.

—

“Come on now, Snow,” Theon said, dragging Jon along towards Wintertown. “Can’t let the festivities end now, can we?”

“I don’t want to go, Greyjoy,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “When will you get that through your thick skull?”

“I heard a rumor that you might be joining the Night’s Watch.”

“What of it?”

“Should at least let you know what a girl tastes like before you give it up.”

“Piss off, Greyjoy.” 

“I even know a girl you might like. Just your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Whatever you say, Snow.” Theon smirked.

Gods, how Jon hated that smirk.  

“And to show you how generous I am, Snow. I’ll pay for it.”

“Theon—”

“No buts. You really do need to get laid, Snow. It might actually get some of that broodiness out of you.”

Theon wound up putting him in a room with a pretty redhead named Ros. She was pretty, but her eyes were brown and her nose tilted up instead of down.

She wrapped her arms around Jon’s shoulders and he stiffened. “Is there anything you want to try, my lord?”

“I’m not a lord,” Jon said quickly.

“But you’re a lord’s bastard, it’s as good as around here.”

“I don’t really want to be here.”

“Do you have a pretty lass waiting for you in your warm bed back in Winterfell?”

“No.” 

“Wouldn’t it be much nicer to have someone warm to sleep with?” 

“I have a direwolf.”

“I don’t mean a dog.”

Ros’ fingers traced Jon’s hairline and he shuddered under her touch. Her lips pressed against his jaw and he felt heat pooling at his stomach. She slid her hands into his and led him to the bed. Ros sat him down and stepped away.

Jon sat there both petrified and mesmerized.

He was only a man after all.

Ros pulled her tunic collar to the side and let the fabric slide off her shoulders. Her outer dress fell to the floor, a whisper against her pale skin. She stepped out of her dress and all she wore was a shift that came just to the ginger curls below. She stepped between his legs and then pulled her shift over her head. Ros placed her hands on Jon’s shoulders and leaned forward, letting his eyes feast upon her bare flesh.

“Do you see something you like, my lord,” she whispered before cupping his face in her hands and kissing him.

He had never kissed a girl before. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do. With Ros it was all teeth and tongue and it tasted of bitter wine.

Suddenly, she was in his lap and her fingers were tangled in his trousers’ laces.

An image of a boy with red hair and grey solemn eyes came to his mind and a pained expression he often saw on Lady Stark’s features when she looked at him echoed into Sansa’s.

Jon put his hand on Ros’ wrist. She looked at him with her deep brown eyes. “I can’t,” His voice hoarse. “I’ll father no bastards. The North doesn't need any more children named Snow.”

He helped her slide off his lap and stood when she sat on the bed. He bent down and picked up her outer dress and placed it over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled some coins from his pocket and put them on the side table. “I’m not sure Theon will pay you since we didn’t… I’m sorry to waste your time.”

“You’re in love with someone, aren’t you?” Ros asked. She sounded neither angry nor relieved.  

“Aye, I am.”

“Who?”

“A girl named Sansa. She has copper hair. It’s why Theon picked you for me, I suppose. But her eyes are so blue I could drown in them. She’s as kind as she is pretty.”

“She doesn’t love you then?” 

Jon shook his head. “She loves my brother Robb and she’s to head South to King’s Landing soon and I am to head North to the Wall.” 

“You’re a sweet boy, Jon Snow.” 

He gave her a slow smile. “You’re a kind woman, Ros. Wasted on a green boy like me, I think.”

She smiled at him. He dipped his head to her, a slight bow, and left.

—

“Jon.”

He turned to see Sansa standing behind him. Her lips spread into a soft smile as she stood at his room’s entrance. Jon straightened and closed his chest where he had been looking for some spare clothes.

“Do you need something, Lady Sansa?”

“I’m no lady, Jon.”

“I’m almost certain you are.” 

“Will you walk with me?” She glanced up at him through her lashes.

“Wouldn’t Robb or Lyarra—” 

“Everyone is so busy, I thought perhaps you might take me.” 

Jon swallowed. He could still remember the touch of Ros’ soft skin and the curiosity of whether Sansa’s skin was softer fluttered across his mind. Last night hadn’t been the first time he had found himself hard in his own chambers. But he had dunked himself in the cold waters of his unused bath and thought of every unappealing thing he could, desperately keeping his thoughts away from Sansa. 

He had once taken himself in had at the thought of her, but his guilt had been too great and he had stopped part way through. He could not and would not dishonor her with allowing her to fill his thoughts as he struggled with his bastard urges.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

She tilted her head, waiting for his answer. 

“Oh,” he said quickly. “Aye. I’ll walk with you.”

Her smile brightened and she waited for him outside his room and he followed next to her.

If he were Robb, he could have her hand on his arm as they walked, but as he was, Jon had to keep his hands behind his back and his eyes downcast as they made their way through Winterfell.

“I am going South soon,” she said softly.  

“Aye.”

“I heard there is to be a tourney. It will be just like the songs.”

And Jon could imagine a knight with shining armor carrying her favor as he won countless battles in her name. He could see the faceless knight press a kiss to the back of her hand and then to her wrist. 

“I’m sure they will live up to your expectations.” 

Ghost ran around them in large circles, occasionally brushing against Sansa’s dress. 

They were silent for a moment as they made their way towards the Broken Tower. They all used to go there as children. They held play tourneys there. Sansa always gave Robb a flower chain to wear around his neck as he fought. 

“I will be returning North though.” 

“Will you?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “I’m the eldest daughter of House Poole. Jeyne will stay in King’s Landing and I shall return North. It’s my home after all,” her cheeks darkened into a blush. “And I shall miss the Northmen greatly.” 

“I don’t think I shall be in Winterfell when you return,” Jon said. 

Sansa froze and Jon had to pause as well. Ghost ran onward, ignoring the two of them. 

“What?”

“I’ll be at the Wall by then, I think.” 

“The Wall?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. He looked to find her blue eyes wide. “Why would you be at the Wall?”

“I’m taking the black.” 

“But, why? Winterfell is your home.” Her hand rested on his arm lightly. 

“There’s nothing to keep me here.” 

Her hand dropped. “Jon, I—” 

Suddenly, loud yapping came from the direction of the Broken Tower. The two of them looked and saw a silent Ghost and a yapping Summer rushing towards them. 

Sansa knelt down as the tan direwolf pup barreled into her outstretched arms. “What is it, Summer? Where’s Bran?” 

The pup stepped back and grabbed ahold of Sansa’s sleeve and began to tug on the fabric. 

“Do you want us to follow?” She glanced up to Jon before standing up. “I suppose there’s nothing else to do.” 

They followed the still yapping pup towards the Broken Tower. Jon kept his gaze upward, figuring that Bran must have gotten stuck in a tree. He was an amazing climber, but he was bound to climb somewhere that he couldn’t climb out of. 

Sansa’s scream broke him from his thoughts. 

He looked forward and saw Bran sprawled out at the base of the tower. The two rushed forward. Sansa knelt at Bran’s side and began to call his name but he would not answer. She pressed her fingers to his neck and then her ear to his chest. 

“He’s still breathing!” He could see the tears beginning to prick at her eyes. “Get the Maester and call for as much aid as you can.” 

Jon nodded and ran back to the main hold of Winterfell. 

“Help!” He shouted. “Help!”

The first person he ran into was his father. “What is it Jon,” Ned Stark asked. “It is not time to be playing games.” 

“It’s Bran, my lord!” Jon gasped for breath. “We found him at the base of the Broken Tower.” 

“What is going on?” Lady Stark came to them, both, scowling. 

“It’s Bran, my lady,” Jon said quickly, his stomach twisted into a knot. “He’s fallen.”


	3. Robb I

**** Winterfell was a mess.

Bran’s fall affected them all.

Robb still couldn’t believe that his brother had fallen. His brother still hadn’t woken up and he overheard the maester say that, even if he did, Bran may never walk again. In his mind’s eye, Robb could still see his brother’s wide smile and eager dream of becoming a knight. When rumors of Lyarra being engaged to Prince Joffrey began to circulate, Bran had said he would join the White Cloaks and protect his lady sister from evil. They had all laughed and Lyarra had told him she felt so much safer knowing that. 

No, House Stark was silent. 

Bran had been the reason for much of their laughter and now he was the reason for its lack. 

Robb sat with Lyarra as she continued to work on a favor for Prince Joffrey. It was a lion and a stag reared up on their hind legs facing one another.

“I shall miss you, little sister,” Robb said as he put down his ledger of past sums from winter. As the Heir of Winterfell, he had to know how to help keep his house in order. 

Lyarra looked up at him and smiled. “I shall miss you too.” She frowned. “It will be so very different South.”

“Aye, but you’ll grow used to it.” He took her hand in his. “If you do not wish to marry, I can talk to Father for you.” 

“Family, duty, honor,” she said softly. “It will do our House proud to sit as queen, it is my duty to do as my father and king commands, and it is an honor to be the one chosen to rule by Prince Joffrey’s side.” She smiled. “I am the eldest daughter of House Stark. I must do as I am bid so Arya can have more of a choice.”

“I doubt Arya will ever get married,” Robb chuckled. 

“I think she just needs to meet someone as bull-headed as she is,” Lyarra giggled. 

“Winterfell will feel rather empty without you girls,” Robb added quickly. “Arya won’t be here to make a nuisance of herself in the training yard. You and Jeyne won’t be giggling about watching us. Sansa’s songs won’t flit through the halls.”

Sansa had been so very quiet recently. Not one song had escaped her lips since she and Jon had discovered Bran. She sewed and mended and tended to everything as she normally did, but without a sweet song on her lips to cause the inhabitants of Winterfell to smile.

“It must have been hard on her,” Robb said, “to find Bran as she did.” 

“It was,” Lyarra nodded. “But she’s heartbroken too.” 

“Heartbroken?” 

His sister nodded. “I can’t go into it because it isn’t my place, but she had her heart broken around the time she found Bran. It was all quite a shock.”

“Why would anyone reject Sansa?” Robb asked. She was the sweetest girl that he knew. She was probably the prettiest girl in Winterfell aside from Lyarra.

“She didn’t say, but I know who it is. Honestly, he’s being a bit of an idiot.” Lyarra stopped her embroidery for a moment. “Do not bother her about it, Robb. Sansa has always been a private person. If she doesn’t bring it up with you, then don’t ask her.” 

“I’m not an idiot, Lyarra.”

His sister rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

—

Once, when Robb was younger, around Bran’s age, he asked his father who he would marry someday. His father smiled and told him one day he would marry a Lady of Winterfell. Robb has then asked if that meant he was to marry his mother. Ned Stark has smiled and told him that his wife would be the Lady of Winterfell after his mother.

‘I pray that you will have a choice, but we are lords and we must do our duty to our people. Sometimes we do not get to choose, but we do decide how we shall act when decisions are made for us.’

Robb wasn’t certain when he noticed Sansa Poole as being a girl as opposed to the person who played with his little sisters. He simply remembered one day her smiling sweetly at him as he played with a little Arya and thought she looked like the Maiden herself. He began to smile at her more often, pressing a kiss to her hand whenever she and Lyarra would play princesses to his and Jon and Theon’s knights. He would occasionally place a crown of winter roses to her copper hair after he won a fight in her claimed honor.

Even now he carried the small handkerchief she had embroidered for him when they were children. It was poorly done, even he would admit that, but he never parted from it.

Robb wasn’t certain when he had decided that, one day, he would marry Sansa Poole and make her Lady of Winterfell, but even at sixteen, he had yet to change his mind.

“Lady Sansa?”

She looked up to him from her place in the library. Sansa had made her home there since Bran’s fall. On more than one occasion he had passed and heard her sniffles as she tried to be strong for Arya and Rickon’s sake.

Sansa stood and gave a small curtsy. “Lord Robb. Do you need anything?”

“I was wondering if you would like to walk.” He smiled at her. “You’ll be going South soon and I will miss your company greatly.”

She nodded and took Robb’s offered arm. “I’ll miss Winterfell,” she said softly. “I don’t know anything else.” 

“They will love you down south. Knights will be falling over themselves to win your favor.” The thought twisted in his chest, but he knew many girls dreamed of such things.

“I am nowhere near as pretty as Lyarra or the queen.”

“I’m not certain about Lyarra since she is my sister, but you are much fairer than Cersei Lannister.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Thank you.” 

“It’s true, any man would be lucky to find themselves in your favor.”

Her smile faltered and her bottom lip trembled slightly. “I am not so important as that.”

Robb stopped and put his hand over her own. “You are.”

She looked up at him and he noticed how pale she was, how sad her Poole blue eyes were.  Robb leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. He pulled away and smiled at her slight surprise.

“You are.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “When you come home to Winterfell, I’ll show you that it’s true. You mean the world to me, Sansa.”

She leaned back slightly and her eyes searched his own. A small sad smile graced her lips and Robb smiled back at her gently. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and he heard a sharp intake of breath.

Rob led her to an empty hall and took her into his arms and let her cry. She buried her face in her hands and into his chest as Robb held her.

“I know I might not be the one you want,” he whispered into her hair. “But I promise I will try to make you happy. We could be like my parents. There was no love between them at first. But we might build it up together. Stone by stone.”

Her arms slid around his waist as she continued to cry and all Robb could do was hold her.

—

He said his goodbye to Sansa. They were all to head out on the Kingsroad, South, and Jon was to go with them with Uncle Benjen and then those two with the Imp and a few guards would head up further North.

“Look after my sisters and yours,” he asked her softly.

“So, only Arya then?” 

He smiled. “She wasn’t made for the court.”

“No, she was not.”

“Sansa…”

She looked up at him. They hadn’t talked much about that moment in the abandoned hallway. They had done nothing to be ashamed of. He had merely held her as she cried. Even so, they had not spoken of it.

“Think about what I said, the other day,” Robb said hesitantly. “I shall wait for you; I know that much. But should the man you prefer ever—”

“He does not want me,” she answered softly.

“Then he is a fool.”

Sansa gave a breathy laugh. “I shall think of what you asked me the other day. I swear it.”

“It is all I ask.” He looked to the horse she was to ride on. “Shall I help you, my lady?”

“I would be honored.”

Robb helped her into her horse, a strong dappled beauty from Bear Island. His father had gifted it to her for her most recent nameday. Her father had said it was too much, but Ned Stark has insisted upon it with how much Sansa loved riding, she had needed a horse of her own. She had ironically decided to name it ‘Old Bear’ for no other reason but it made Rickon laugh.

He led her horse to be with the others, she was to ride part of the way and then join one of the carriages. She had wanted to breathe the Northern air for as long as possible.

“Goodbye, my lady.”

“Goodbye, my lord.”

He pressed a kiss to her hand and turned from her. Robb saw Jon carrying a horse saddle and made his way towards him. It will be strange to not have him there anymore. He still doesn’t quite understand Jon’s reason for taking the Black, but if it is what Jon wished to do, Robb would never stop him.

“You say goodbye to Bran?” He asked. He was certain he had already said goodbye to the girls, Robb hadn’t mentioned it but he was rather certain he had seen a sword looking thing amongst Arya’s personal items. “He’s not going to die. I know it.”

“You Starks are hard to kill,” Jon comments.

Robb wouldn’t say that were true. Their uncle and grandfather and then their aunt. All but two gone at the end of the last war. Perhaps they would do better next time should the event arise.

Robb thought for a moment and remembered his mother had yet to leave Bran’s side. He knew full well his mother’s thoughts on Jon Snow. “My mother?”

“She was very kind,” he said as he lifted his saddle onto his horse.

“Good.” Robb figured that was a lie. Jon turned to him. “Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

Colors to say that he would take no wife and father no bastards. He knew that Jon had once carried feelings for Sansa. Even Theon had noticed such a thing. Not once did Jon ever confirm or deny it, but Robb could see the way his brother looked at the oldest Poole girl when he thought no one was looking. But he was only a bastard. Robb felt bad for thinking it, but Sansa was a lady, she would never have such feelings for a bastard.

“It was always my color,” he said with a slow smile.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

They embraced as the often had after a bitter argument and their father made them reconcile.

“This won’t be the last time,” Jon said slowly when they parted. “I shall come as often as Uncle Benjen is able to.”

Robb nodded. “Perhaps I shall be married by then and give you a little niece and nephew as a welcome present.”

Jon nodded but said nothing. Robb smiled half-heartedly and went to join Rickon on the ramparts to wave goodbye to everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a Lyarra POV next!


	4. Lyarra I

Lyarra watched her friend from within the carriage. Arya had preferred riding and so Jeyne had been allowed to ride instead. However, it was Sansa that Lyarra watched.

The eldest Poole girl’s copper hair was tied in a northern braid that swayed slightly at the steps of her horse. Her dress was only slightly more Southern, but the embellishments of white against the blue fabric were all Northern. Sansa was facing forward, despite her riding side-saddle and even Lyarra could see the strain of unshed tears in her eyes.

“What saddens you, my lady,” sweet Tommen asked.

Out of all of his siblings, Lyarra saw him as the most genuine in his sweetness. Myrcella was pretty but her kindness was rather thoughtless and Lyarra had yet to understand the slight worry she held when she looked upon her betrothed.

“It is nothing so terrible, my little prince,” Sansa said kindly.

“It must be terrible,” Myrcella said, interested in her younger brother’s conversation with the pretty Northern girl. “For you to be near tears.”

Lyarra could see the queen glance at Sansa as well. Cersei Lannister has complimented the Poole girl on her ability to sew and make dresses and even said she would be happy to see if she might design something for herself to wear that was perhaps a little Northern to “show her solidarity” with her future daughter-in-law.

“She’s just heartbroken,” Jeyne said, hoping to become part of the conversation. “Her love is not returned. It’s all terribly romantic.”

“Jeyne,” Lyarra said softly. She didn’t find it romantic at all. It was rather obvious to her that her half-brother loved Sansa, probably for a lot longer than Sansa had loved him. The fact that their love had missed one another was terribly sad, not romantic at all.

“Surely a pretty bird such as yourself could charm him,” the queen said cooly. “Show him a Southron charm and he would fall for you instantly.”

“He’s off to the Wall,” Jeyne said with a blush. “He will be gone when she gets back. She even keeps a favor she made for him in her pocket.”

“Jeyne,” Sansa said in slight warning.

“You’re in love with the Stark bastard?” Joffrey barely contained a sneer as he finally joined the conversation.

“Aye,” Sansa said slowly. “But I knew it was never to be. I had dreams, but dreams for a lady cannot always come true.”

“You should ride after him and at least give him your favor to carry with him at the Wall!” Myrcella said, her eyes brimming with a glow that children often had at listening to the epic romances of history.

“I shall not burden him with something as trivial as my own feelings.” Sansa shook her head. “No, I shall carry it in my heart until it settles and do my duty when I return to Winterfell.”

“Surely it would not hurt to tell him,” Lyarra said quietly.

“He should be honored even to have the affections of a highborn lady,” Joffrey said in such a way that it could be taken as a compliment.

“Not for oneself, but for the duty to others,” Sansa said gently.

“Our House words,” Jeyne said, her smile dying on her lips.

“Aye, and what do they mean little sister?”

“We are never to serve our own interests only the interests of those we owe loyalty to.” Jeyne looked to her lap.

“My feelings would burden him as they would burden others. He is to head farther North where he shall make vows to take no wives and father no children. I will return North one day to marry and carry on our House and the House of my husband.” She looked to Lyarra and Jeyne and Myrcella. “Our duty is always to our houses first. Lyarra is to honor the friendship between House Baratheon and House Stark. Jeyne, although you are the second daughter, your son may become the next lord of our House and you should allow Father to choose wisely in who the sire shall be. Princess, you are free to love who you wish, but remember who you are and who your parents are. For your actions represent the realm as well as your family.” She bowed her head slightly. “If I may be excused, I shall go to check on Lady Arya.”

—

Lyarra walked carefully next to Joffrey. Not once did he ever offer his arm to help her as they wandered towards the river. If it were Jon, Lyarra could understand the hesitance, but Robb had always offered her his arm even on the even terrain of Winterfell. Even Bran and Rickon offered her their arm even with their shorter stature. Even the king occasionally offered the queen his arm. Yet, not once did Joffrey offer her aid as they walked.

Sansa followed behind them at a slight distance. Lyarra knew her father and septa had not asked her to do so. Her father was busy and her septa did not seem to have a thought. Even so, Sansa remained quiet, like a shadow following them towards wherever it was that Prince Joffrey was taking her.

Joffrey took a drink from his wineskin before offering it to Lyarra. He had already offered her plenty and she feared on why he was giving her so much wine. She thought of the king and how he behaved at the feast in Winterfell.

“I probably shouldn’t have anymore,” Lyarra said carefully. “Father only lets us have one cup at feasts.” And even then they are surrounded by adults who could take care of them. Lyarra loved Sansa but neither of them could do anything if Joffrey wished to do anything untoward.

“My princess can drink as much as she wants.” He sounded as though he were being kind, but in his statement, he ignored that Lyarra was also making the decision to not drink anymore.

He pressed his wineskin towards her and Lyarra glanced at Sansa who indicated to pretend to take a drink to please the prince but still please her father. Lyarra did as directed, keeping her lips closed as she pressed the small opening to the wineskin to her lips.

They heard the slapping of sticks, for it did not sound like metal, off in the distance. Her first thought was to Arya and then the following thought was that they were not in Winterfell.

“Don’t worry,” Joffrey said, misunderstanding her thoughts. “You’re safe with me.”

He left to go check out the noise, Lyarra and Sansa were helpless but to follow.

They came upon Arya and Mycah, the butcher's son, playing with long wooden sticks as they mocked a duel. They were enjoying themselves, but Lyarra felt sick to her stomach. This was not Winterfell where Arya might be able to get away with such things. Their father might turn a blind eye to such happenings because he raised his children to see those deemed lesser than them as equals. But they were further South now and the court was less kind than that.

“Arya!” Lyarra called, hoping her sister would see reason, although she rarely did in these instances.

Arya turned and Lyarra’s breath caught in her throat as Mycah’s stick struck Arya in the arm and her sister cried out in annoyed pain.

Lyarra felt herself grow pale. He could be punished for such things. By Joffrey. By the queen. By the king. It was why Jon did not touch her if he didn’t have to. It was why Jon had not wished to go anywhere with Sansa privately. What would it matter if he were not at fault? Lords could make it his fault.

“What are you doing here?” Arya said with her chin raised.

Lyarra knew her father spoiled her sister in many things. Part of her thought it was due to her Stark look. People whispered it was as though the ghost of Lyanna still roamed the walls of Winterfell. She was allowed to practice weaponry and didn’t have to sit down during her lessons with Septa and could leave if she made enough of a nuisance of herself. Arya was a child, true. But being a child was no excuse because  SHE  would not be the one facing the consequences of her actions. The lowborns she pulled into her games–because they couldn’t rightly refuse her–would.

“Go away,” Arya said as she might should they still be in Winterfell.

Lyarra’s gaze shifted to Mycah and saw the boy grow pale. He knew what could happen as well.

“Your sister?” Joffrey asked. Lyarra nodded quickly. The two had met once before but she supposed he had paid Arya no mind. “And who are you, boy?” Joffrey stepped forward towards the boy.

Mycah dropped his stick, no doubt knowing that holding anything that could be perceived as a weapon could be viewed as a threat. “Mycah, my lord.”

Lyarra winced and she heard Sansa take in a sharp breath.

“He’s the butcher’s boy,” Lyarra clarified.

“He’s my friend!” Arya said with both annoyance and pride.

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight, eh?” Joffrey stepped closer and Lyarra stepped back into Sansa. “Pick up your sword, butcher’s boy,” he said, pulling out his own steel sword. “Let’s see how good you are.”

“She asked me to, my lord,” Mycah said quickly. “She asked me to.”

“I’m your prince, not your lord,” Joffrey said in a barely concealed sneer. “Now I said pick up your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, my prince. It’s only a stick.”

“And you aren’t a knight, only a butcher’s boy.” Joffrey lifted his sword and placed its tip and edge near Mycah’s cheek. “That was my lady’s sister you were hitting. Do you know that?”

Lyarra felt sick to her stomach and knew it wasn’t the wine. To all the adults, Joffrey would be viewed as protecting her and Arya’s honor, even if that wasn’t his full intention. He would be viewed as being in the right. Some would even write a song about how honorable and chivalrous he was being.

“Stop it,” Arya spat.

“Lady Arya, stay out of this,” Sansa’s voice remained clear from behind Lyarra.

They both knew of Arya’s temper and she might only make it worse. Mycah might be injured for what was happening, but he would not be punished too harshly since all would attest that it was only playing, but Arya would not allow for such injustice, even if her actions might only bring more harm than good.

“I won’t hurt him,” Joffrey conceded. “Much.” He pressed his sword into Mycah’s cheeks and began to draw blood.

“Arya!” Lyarra shouted as she saw her sister raise her stick and smack Joffrey in the back.

The prince stumbled forward and Mycah ran at the distraction.

“Filthy little bitch!” Joffrey shrieked. He began to swing at her wildly as Arya fell back and dodged his swings.

“Stop it!” Lyarra shouted as Sansa pulled her back protectively. “Stop it both of you!” Perhaps she could still make Joffrey see reason. “You’re spoiling it!” Perhaps her tears might suffice. “You’re spoiling everything!” she said to both of them.

Arya fell back at Joffrey’s feet as Joffrey pointed his sword in her face. Tears began to spill down Lyarra’s cheeks as Sansa gasped, helpless to intercede.

“I’ll gut you, you little cunt!”

Nymeria rushed out and jumped. Her teeth sinking into Joffrey’s sword hand. The prince cried out and dropped his sword.

“Arya!” Lyarra called.

“Nymeria!” Arya cried.

“Arya!” She could be punished. The queen could call for her head!

“Nymeria!” She pulled her direwolf off of Joffrey and for a moment, Lyarra thought it was over. Then, she picked up Joffrey’s sword and pointed it at him.

They all froze for a moment.

For such an action, Arya could be killed.

“No,” Joffrey whimpered. “No, please don’t…”

“Arya.” Lyarra had to end this quickly. Perhaps she could still placate him. He had wanted to play an honorable knight to her, perhaps he might still see reason. “Leave him alone.”

Arya turned from Joffrey and threw his sword in the river before running into the forest, Nymeria at her heels.

Lyarra rushed over to Joffrey and knelt next to him. She tried to think of all the pretty words that she could. “My prince, my poor prince. Look at what they did to you.” She had read that in a book once. Surely it would placate him. “Stay here, I’ll go back to the inn and get help.”

She reached for him then but he jerked his face away.

“Then go!” he shouted. “Don’t touch me.”

His pride was ruined, his honor questioned, and he would not see reason.

Lyarra’s heart sank.

His father had gone to war for wounded pride and questioned honor. He had killed a prince himself for such a thing.

—

Lyarra saw her father push through the Red Cloaks and went straight to Arya, cupping her face in his hands, something he had never done with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Arya said quickly, her voice warbled with already shed tears.

“Are you hurt?” their father asked.

“No,” her voice strained as many child’s might in the presence of a caring parent.

“It’s alright,” he pulled her into a hug, something he hadn’t don’t for Lyarra in recent memory. Ned looked to the king. He let Arya go and stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?”

Lyarra looked down at her feet. Had her father ever gotten that angry for her sake? Had the Quiet Wolf ever raised his voice for her?

“How dare you speak to your king in that manner?” Cersei sneered.

“Quiet, woman,” the king said forcefully. His voice turned kinder. “Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl, but we need to get this business done quickly.”

“Your girl and that butcher’s boy attacked my son,” the queen said. “That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off.”

That was not what Lyarra nor Sansa had told Ned Stark, at least the first part. Lyarra had been in tears when her father finally came to her before going off to find Arya. She had barely been able to get anything out before Sansa had to explain. He promised that they would speak to the king about this once Arya was found–not once offering Lyarra the possibility of ending the engagement to the boy who had pointed a sword at her sister.

“That’s not true!” Arya shouted. “She–she just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.”

“Joff told us what happened,” the queen continued as though Arya hadn’t spoken. “You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” Joffrey said sharply. “They all attacked me and then she threw my sword in the river.”

“Liar!”

“Shut up!”

“He tells me one thing,” the king shouted. “She tells me another. Seven Hells, what am I to make of this? Where’s your other daughter, Ned?”

“In bed asleep.”

Lyarra tried not to cry at that. He hadn’t even noticed her. He had walked right by and hadn’t noticed her.

“She’s not,” the queen said. “Lyarra, come here, darling.” Her voice was kind but she knew what the queen wanted. She wanted her to incriminate Arya and corroborate Joffrey’s story. After all, it would be Lyarra’s duty as his betrothed.

A Lannister soldier pushed Lyarra and Sansa forward and they walked to stand next to Arya, Sansa a respectful distance behind.

The king pointed to Lyarra. “Now, child.” He motioned for her to stand before him. She did so. “Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It’s a great crime to lie to a king.”

It was also a great crime to raise a weapon to the crown prince.

She looked to her father, who offered her no reassuring words. She looked to Joffrey who merely glared at her.

Lyarra took a shaky breath. She would have to play it safe so that no one might get hurt. Her father and the king were friends, surely this could be settled peacefully. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast.” She was protecting Arya and Mycah both. “I didn’t see.”

“Liar!” Arya smacked Lyarra on the back of the head and began to pull her hair. She continued to scream the accusation over and over as she continued to pull.

Ned and Sansa pulled the two sisters apart.

“She’s as wild as that animal of hers,” the queen smirked. “I want her punished.”

“What would you have me do?” the king asked, not including his friend in the discussion. “Whip her through the streets?” Lyarra’s breath caught in her throat. “Damn it! Children fight. It’s over.” Lyarra released her stale breath.

“Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life,” the queen growled.

The king looked to his heir. “You let that little girl disarm you.”

That meant he believed Arya’s side of things, at least in part.

Joffrey looked hurt for only a moment before turning a glare to Lyarra.

They were still engaged.

The king turned back to her father. “Ned, see to it that your daughter’s disciplined and I’ll do the same with my son.”

“Of course, your grace,” Ned nodded, turning to Arya.

The king stood.

“What of the direwolf?” the queen asked. Everyone froze. “What of the beast that savages your son?”

The king closed his eyes and sighed. “I forgot the damned wolf.” He turned to his captain.

“We found no trace of the direwolf, your grace,” the guard said.

“No?” The kind nodded. “So be it.”

“We have another wolf,” the queen said.

Lyarra’s eyes went wide. Surely not.

“As you will,” the king said before stepping away, leaving the rest of it to the Lannisters.

“You can’t mean it,” Ned said quietly as the king passed.

“A direwolf’s no pet,” he replied. “Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.”

“He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” Lyarra whispered. Her father did not look at her. “No.” She turned to the queen. “No. Not Lady! Lady didn’t bite anyone!” She shouted. “She’s good!” Tears began to spill down her cheeks.

Arya stepped out in front of her. “Lady wasn’t there! You leave her alone!”

Lyarra reached for her father. “Stop them,” she begged. “Don’t let them do it!” She turned to the queen and her still-betrothed. “Please! Please!” She stepped forward, but Sansa stepped forward as well and wrapped her arms around Lyarra. “Please! It wasn’t Lady!”

“Is this your command?” Her father asked the king. “Your grace?”

The king turned but said nothing and continued his exit.

Lyarra began to sob. Sansa began to stroke her hair and make soothing noises.

“My lord,” the Poole girl began. “Nymeria only attacked because–”

Lyarra shook her head quickly, she would not have Sansa or Arya punished too.

“Where is the beast?” The queen asked.

“Chained up outside, your grace,” the guard answered.

Lady. Her precious Lady in chains. It only made Lyarra sob harder.

“Ser Ilyn, do me the honor.”

“No,” Ned intervened.

For a moment, Lyarra had hope. Her father would vouch for her, for Lady. He would end the engagement and they could all go home.

“Jory,” her father continued. “Take the girls to their rooms.”

To pack, Lyarra hoped. To pack!

Ned turned to the queen. “If it must be done, I’ll do it myself.”

Lyarra’s heart shattered.

“Is this some trick?”

Let it be a trick, her heart hoped.

“The wolf is of the North,” her father said. “She deserves better than a butcher.”

He was going to do it himself.

Lyarra wailed and buried her face in Sansa’s chest and she felt as Jory wrapped his arms around all three girls and Arya stood between her and the queen.

—

Lyarra could feel it when Lady died.

It was as though her soul had snapped in two.

She felt empty.

She felt as though she had died too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa got way too much hat for the Mycah incident. I rewatched the scene a few times to get this moment right. Joffrey is getting mauled by Nymeria and Sansa called for Arya. 
> 
> Also, Ned should have ended the engagement right there and asked to take the girls home before traveling South or saying he couldn’t be Hand anymore, but no, he had to continue to use Sansa as a pawn to investigate the Lannisters. (I love Ned but it hurt me so much that he sort of used Sansa in that way and never explained anything as he did for Arya)
> 
> And if you watch the scene, Arya does in fact step in front of Sansa as she’s crying as a sort of shield from Cersei and Joffrey.


	5. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of Arya’s biggest learning curves was the fact of how much power nobility has over the smallfolk. I love Arya a lot, but I feel like, as a girl, she didn’t understand how protected she was due to her father and her name. I think it’s why she eventually becomes such a champion for the smallfolk, she has seen both sides.

King’s Landing was beautiful.

But it was not Winterfell.

Jeyne was thrilled to be in the South. She loved the beautiful silks and the fashion and the food. Sansa was happy for her sister’s happiness, but Sansa could not find herself happy in this part of Westeros.

She missed the crisp mornings and comfort of reading a story next to a roaring fire. None of that were things in the South and Sansa felt as though she were wilting in the capital’s heat.

It did not help that she often ran between Lyarra and Arya. The two girls hardly spoke since Lady had been killed. Poor Lyarra was despondent. She sat wherever she was told to sit and looked so very lost. At night, Sansa could hear Lyarra crying and she knew there was nothing that could be done.

Although she said nothing, Sansa hated the king and queen and prince for what they had done. She hated the king for not caring. She hated the queen who seemed to rejoice in Lyarra’s misery. She hated Joffrey for his cruel smile that he often gave Lyarra saying he shall buy her a puppy for no other reason but to stop her from crying.

Arya was just angry. While her anger was directed mostly towards the prince, she spent most of her time antagonizing Lyarra and being angry at Sansa. The Poole girl knew that she was angry at the death of her friend, but she took a step too far in her most recent argument.

Arya has been stabbing at her food while Sansa helped arrange the plates. Jeyne was with their father in the market doing some shopping.

“Enough of that, young lady,” Septa Mordane said with warning. “Eat your food.”

Arya stopped only for a second before continuing again. “I’m practicing.”

“Practicing for what?” Lyarra said, trying to be conversational.  

“The prince,” the younger Stark girl replied. 

Sansa’s heart seized in her chest and she looked around the room wildly although she knew none of the queen or prince’s men were in the room. Her words were treason.

Lyarra looked just as shocked.

“Arya Stark,” the septa gasped.

“He’s a liar and a coward,” Arya said angrily. “And he killed my friend.” 

“The Hound killed your friend,” Lyarra said with annoyance. It was the most Sansa had heard her charge speak in recent days. 

“The Hound does whatever the prince tells him to do,” Arya sneered.

“You’re an idiot.”

Sansa sighed. This was dangerous ground Arya was treading upon. If anyone who serves the queen heard her.

“And you’re a liar. And if you had told the truth, then Mycah would be alive.” She slammed her knife into the table near Lyarra’s hand. 

“Enough,” Sansa said. “If Lyarra had told the truth, nothing would have changed save for your own outcome.”

“ Of course, you pick  her  side,” Arya growled.

“I’m not picking a side, Arya. I’m telling you that Lyarra speaking the truth would have only made things worse. You aren’t the only person to have lost someone.”

“My best friend was murdered for no good reason!”

“And Lady was killed because of what  you  did. Mycah was killed because he raised a weapon against you, a daughter of a great house. There is no one person at fault.”

“This is why Jon doesn’t love you back,” Arya spat.

“Arya!” Lyarra shouted.

“What’s happening here?” Lord Stark asked as he came into the solar.

Sansa felt near to tears as Arya’s words echoed in her head. “I am feeling unwell,” she said softly. “Excuse me.”

She rushed off to her room as she heard Lord Stark repeat his question. Sansa slammed her door behind herself and threw herself onto the bed. The tears began to roll down her cheeks as a sob escaped her throat. She knew that Jon did not love her, she had verbalized it herself on many occasions. Yet having Arya, Jon’s favorite sibling, confirming her own knowledge felt terrible. It was as though all the air in her lungs had been stolen from her and breathing became difficult.

Sansa took a moment to collect her breath and composure. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on those feelings. Her future was at Winterfell. Robb was at Winterfell. She thought of his kind words when he had asked for her to think of the lives they could build together. A part of her heart would always be at the Wall, but it did not mean her love could not be given freely to a man who was kind and gentle and strong.

Finally collecting herself, Sansa went to her trunk and began to search through the things she had brought to King’s Landing. She pulled out the handkerchief she had made as a favor to Jon. How ironic that he should have a white direwolf as his own as well. Pain pricked at her heart at the sight of it. Without thought, Sansa tossed the handkerchief at the candle that melted the wax for her letters.

Bile rose into her throat as she realized her action. Sansa quickly grabbed the handkerchief and was glad to find it unburnt even though she was certain it had been caught by the flame.

Sansa folded it again and pressed the fabric to her chest. No. Her love for Jon is one part of her and she could not deny that fully. She placed the warm fabric into a fold of her dress that she had hidden a pocket. Safe, but away from her heart. 

The next item she pulled out was a pouch. She opened it and poured the content into the palm of her hand. It was a dragonfly necklace Robb had gotten her for her last nameday. She closed her eyes and could still remember her dreams as a young child. Sansa opened her eyes again. She could be happy. She would be happy. Perhaps the whole of her heart might not belong to Robb at first, but mayhaps the love she did feel for him would grow.

Sansa unhooked the chair and clasped it back around her neck, letting the dragonfly fall to just below her collarbone. 

A knock came to the door. Sansa stood up and brushed down her skirt. “Come in.” 

Arya opened the door hesitantly and came in. “I’m sorry, Sansa,” she said bashfully.

Sansa sat down at her desk. “For?”

“For saying that stuff about Jon.”

Sansa sighed. “I forgive you.” 

“But I’m still mad that you picked Lyarra’s side.”

“Arya, come here a moment.” The Stark girl did as she was asked and Sansa took Arya’s hands in her own. “This isn’t Winterfell.”

The girl snorted. “I know it’s not.”

“The rules are different here. Your father is not the lord of this castle. It is not his word that is law. Lyarra knows this. The only wound any maester could prove was the bite Nymeria gave the prince. It was why your father and the king could say nothing when the queen called for justice against what happened to her son when it came to you. You pointed a sword at Joffrey with the intent to hurt him. You threatened the crown prince of Westeros while we were eating. That is treason and one might seek to punish you as well. More so than I know your lord father did. Mycah was the son of no one important. He raised a weapon towards you.”

“I asked him—”

“And you are a lady of Winterfell and the daughter of the lord his father had sworn himself to. He could not say no to you even if he knew it was wrong and may get him in trouble.”

“But—”

“Arya, your actions have consequences. But because you have the right name, those consequences might not be your own. They may be handed down to another. Lady was killed in Nymeria’s stead. As of now, Lyarra is still engaged to Prince Joffrey. Anything you do or say to him may provoke his crueler nature towards Lyarra. Remember that Arya. You cannot act like no one here. You cannot act like there is no difference between you and the smallfolk. If you do, you may forget the power you have over them. They are not your equals. You have to remember that. They are not your equal so whatever punishment is handed to you might be given to them worse.” Sansa took a deep breath. “Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Arya paused for a moment. “Can’t we go back to Winterfell? Why does Lyarra have to marry Joffrey?”

“Because your father wills it.”

“Can you talk to him?” Arya asked. “Perhaps you could make him see reason?”

“I’ll try.”

—

Sansa knocked on the door to the Lord Hand’s solar. 

“Come in!” Lord Stark called.

She opened the door and closed it behind herself. Her father and Lord Stark stood at a large desk going over numbers for the coming tournament. Sansa curtsied. “Lord Stark. Father.”

“Do you need something, Lady Sansa?” Lord Stark asked. He looked so much like Jon. Or rather, Jon looked so much like him. She wondered if this was what Jon will look like in a few decades. 

Sansa gathers her thoughts again. “My lord, I was wondering if we might speak of Lady Lyarra’s engagement to Prince Joffrey?” 

Lord Stark and her father looked to her. 

“Sansa,” her father begins, but Lord Stark stopped him.

“Has my daughter spoken to you about such things?”

“She has barely spoken at all since Lady…” Sansa dropped her gaze. “My Lord, surely you cannot let Lady Lyarra marry a person who can be so cruel. I told you what happened that day by the river.”

“They are only engaged. A marriage will not happen for a long time yet.”

“Then can we not go back to Winterfell? Let Lady Lyarra and Prince Joffrey write letters to better acquaint themselves if you do not wish to break the engagement.”

“We are needed in King’s Landing,” Lord Stark said. “There are things that must be done. Lyarra is to stay at least until everything is finished.”

“My Lord—”

“Sansa,” her father warned again.

She looked to him and then looked down at her feet. “I understand.” Sansa curtsied and left the room quickly.

—

“Lady Lyarra,” a voice called from behind her and, on instinct, Sansa turned to face its owner. A slender man came from behind her. He could not be older than her father, but he had grey hair coming slightly from his temples. He also had a  short-pointed beard  and mustache that was neatly trimmed. It was an odd fashion and Sansa had never seen someone wear their beard in such a way. 

He reached her and gave her a bow. “Lady Lyarra, it is a pleasant thing to make your acquaintance.”

Sansa blinked for a moment. “Oh! No, I am afraid you are confused, my lord. I am Sansa Poole. I serve House Stark and specifically Lady Lyarra.”

The man looked surprised. “I was certain you must be Lady Lyarra. You look so much like Cat when she was your age.” 

Sansa tilted her head in confusion. “Cat?”

The man smiled. “Apologies, my lady. I mean Lady Catelyn. My name is Petyr Baelish. I was a ward of House Tully as a boy and grew up alongside Lady Catelyn and her siblings. As I said before, there is a striking resemblance.”

Sansa blushed. “Many have told me the same. Lady Stark has always been so kind to me. She has been a mother to me since my own passed many years ago. Your compliment is kind, my lord.”

“And why are you not at the tournament?” Lord Baelish asked.

“I needed to fetch my lady a shawl,” she showed him what she was carrying. “I am on my way back now.”

“It would not do to have a young lady such as yourself walking alone,” he gave her a charming smile. He extended his arm to her. “Might I escort you to the tournament grounds?” 

“If you would be so kind, my lord. I find myself easily lost in this place. I find Winterfell much simpler.” She took his arm gratefully and he began to lead her back to the tournament. “ So,  you grew up with Lady Stark, my lord?”

“That I did. She and her sister and I would often play together as children. The last time I saw her was right before the war broke out. I am always saddened that my work here does not give me the chance to visit her.”

“I am sure she would be delighted to see you again.” Sansa gave his arm a slight squeeze. “I know I miss the rest of the Starks back in Winterfell, even though we have only been parted for a few moons.” She smiled and Lord Baelish laughed. “Have I said something funny, my lord?”

“Your smile is quite similar to Cat’s as well. How strange that you two are so alike.”

Sansa blushed again. “The people of Winterfell like to joke that the Old Gods love Lady Stark so much that they blessed the North with one of her likeness.”

“I do not believe in the Old Gods, but I believe you may be right.” He smiled down at her and placed his hand over hers as they continued to walk. His hand felt cold to the touch but she did not wish to be rude by pushing his hand away. “I feel so very old now that I stand next to a young version of Catelyn.” His smile grew distant. “She was the first girl to ever hold my heart, after all.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “ You  were that boy! I thought your name sounded familiar. My father spoke of how you challenged Brandon Stark to a duel for Lady Stark’s hand.”

“That I did.”

Sansa realized that, perhaps, her words were unkind. “Forgive me if I have been rude.”

“It has been ages ago. I have learned that Stark men are hard to bear when it comes to their lady loves.”

Sansa laughed softly. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. He had loved Lady Stark enough to risk a duel against Brandon Stark, one of the best swordsmen of Westeros. Lord Baelish must have loved her very much.

“Does it ever fade?” she asked. “The love you carry when it cannot be returned?”

“Have you been heartbroken, my lady?”

“He has gone to the Wall of his own choosing. My feelings were never returned,” she smiled sadly. “I hope to one day move forward with my love, but stories are so useless in times like these for they make us believe that only one love is ever true.” She looked up to him. “ So, do they fade? Have yours been given again after?”

He squeezed her hand tightly and looked her in the eyes. “They might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤢 Creepyfinger 🤮


	6. Jon II

He remembered the first time he noticed Sansa was a girl. 

Well, he’d always known she was a girl, but it had been the first time her being a girl seemed to matter. 

He remembered her climbing, a ribbon of Lyarra’s had gotten into the branches of a tree in the godswood and the boys did not care to fetch it since it had only been a ribbon. Even so, Lyarra cried and Sansa offered to climb the tree and retrieve it. She tied her skirts in a peculiar way that made them look like poofy pants before she began her ascent. Robb called for her to climb down and that he would do it, but she insisted that she could make it and that they hadn’t wanted to fetch it in the first place. Theon just sat with Arya and laughed at the absurdity of it. Jon fidgeted with the gem of his tunic, unsure of what he should even do. 

Sansa has just grasped the ribbon when they heard the branch crack.

She screamed and Jon rushed forward to catch her. Sansa fell into his arms and they fell to the ground as his breath was stolen out of his chest at the impact. His arm felt as though it were on fire, but it was not the sensation he found himself focusing on as they laid there on his back. 

Jon could feel the soft swell of her chest the small puff of air against his neck, her legs parted around his thigh. 

Sansa sat up, her eyes wide. She asked up if he were alright, still sitting astride his leg. 

Gods. 

The talk he and Robb and Theon had with Lord Stark just a few days ago rang in his mind. 

She asked him again if he were alright. 

He focused on the pain of his arm to ignore her hands pressing against his chest or the slight flush of her cheeks at the cold and the thrill of falling. 

He had fractured his arm that spring, luckily it had not been his dominant hand. 

Sansa had felt so terrible for being the cause of it. She had offered to mend his shirts and help with the sling he was made to wear. She would help him do things he did not technically need help for, but he could not refuse her when she offered him aid. 

It was the first spring he would dream of her being his lady wife and understand what it meant to be a bastard. His thoughts were not meant for ladies like Sansa. 

His thoughts were not meant for a lady who would one day be his good sister. 

—

At least he had Sam now. 

Jon hadn’t had many friends back in Winterfell, save his siblings and Theon. It was strange, finding friendship with a person who was not tied to him by blood or house loyalty. He did what he could for his new friend, something Lyarra had always pestered him to attempt. 

_ Friendships are just as precious as family _ , she had told him once when she had begun playing with Jeyne more than her siblings.  _ Friendships get you more places than family can.  _

Jon wondered how his sisters were doing in King’s Landing. Arya probably hated it. Lyarra was probably enjoying it a little, although he knew she was not exactly thrilled about her engagement to the crown prince. He’d personally been unimpressed with the Baratheons and Lannisters. They hadn’t belonged in the North and Jon wondered if any of the Starks belonged in the South. 

His thoughts flitted towards Sansa. He imagined her in a more southron dress. Her collar dipping slightly to show the slight swell of her breast and her arms bare to show the milky white skin beneath the northern fur she covered herself in. She would be the image of a weirwood tree, her hair elaborately braided as the queen’s had been. Jon shook his head as he continued his work. It wouldn’t do to think of her in that way. 

“Surely you must have had a lady love,” Sam said, after Jon had admitted to the Ros incident and reiterated the fact that he did, in fact, know where to put it. “Just because a lady might not act on it doesn’t mean she did not look. My sister thought the stableboy to be handsome, but she would never act upon such feelings.”

“There was a lady, but she was in love with my brother, Robb.”

“Did she have red hair too?”

“Aye. Hair like weirwood leaves. I’ve known her since we were children.”

“Where is she?”

“She went South with my sisters, but she’s to return North once my sister is settled and married.” Jon felt an ache in his chest. “She is probably to wed my brother when she returns.”

“Will you go to the wedding?” Sam asked. “Surely they will let you go and see since your brother is to be the next Warden of the North.”

Jon could see it. Sansa dressed in white as her father walked her down the lit path to the Heart Tree to present her to the Old Gods and to Robb. He could see her smile shyly at Robb who would look every inch a prince. He could see the way Robb would cloak her in Stark colors and press a kiss to her lips when they were named man and wife. 

“Would you go?” Sam asked, breaking through Jon’s thoughts. 

“I would go to support my brother. He doesn’t know of my feelings for her and she thinks me a friend. My heart has already gone South. Even if it returns North, it shall never truly be mine.” Jon looked to Sam. “What of you? Any lady your heart has left you for?”

“Lady Margaery Tyrell. They call her the Rose of Highgarden. She was kind to me once and even danced when my family went to pay our respects. I do not think I would say my heart belongs to her, but I think I know what sort of girl I would like to marry if I had ever gotten the chance. Someone sweet and kind.”

Jon nodded and the two went back to work. 

—

_ He dreamed he was running.  _

_ He was not sure where he was running, but he felt like a ghost upon the wind, running through a forest.  _

_ Kind Sister was dead.  _

_ Wild Sister was gone.  _

_ The brothers were inside stone walls.  _

_ He was free.  _

_ Mate was not there.  _

_ Mate was in danger.  _

_ A mockingbird was whispering in her ear.  _

_ A mockingbird had his hands on Mate.  _

_ A mockingbird wanted to take Mate as his own.  _

_ He howled into the moon, red as fire and blood.  _

Jon woke up in a cold sweat. 


	7. Robb II

He wrote to her. To Sansa. 

Theon thought it was funny that Robb felt the need to send ravens to King’s Landing. In the Ironborn’s opinion, this was a chance for Robb to be  _ free  _ a bit before he got married. 

“She’s not here and I’m sure your hand is busy enough with your lording duties,” Theon elbowed him as they wandered through the castle. “Don’t you want to please her? Don’t want to make an idiot of yourself before her, do you? Spilling before she even feels you?”

Robb had glared at him. “I will not disrespect Sansa in that way. She shall be my only just as I will be hers. I will not disgrace her and risk having a bastard.” He had thought of Jon, thought of his mother’s anguish at the boy’s existence, he thought of the way his father had felt torn between loving his lady wife and loving his son as he might his other children. “I will not do that to Sansa.”

He had approached his mother carefully about the match. She was worried about Bran but Robb and Maester Luwin has been able to convince her to eat for no other reason but to keep her strength up and to allow the maester the chance to look over Bran without a fretting mother to worry about. 

Even Bran, who had woken up rather suddenly, told his mother that she must keep her strength up. 

“Mother,” he began carefully. His mother loved Sansa like one of her own girls. He hoped that she might approve. 

Lady Poole had been a cousin of Robb’s mother, a Whent girl who had accompanied Lady Catelyn North when the war had ended. The two women had looked like sisters and their friendship had been highly respected considering both women were a force to be reckoned with when they saw an injustice. Lady Poole’s death had been a hard blow for Robb’s mother to take, but she had found comfort in her friend’s two daughters. 

“Yes, Robb?” His mother’s eyes were tired. Her skin was as pale as a weirwood tree and Robb pushed more food towards her. 

“I have…” he fumbled with his words. “There is a lady I would like to marry.” His mother opened her mouth to respond but Robb continued quickly. “It would be for a while yet, but I wanted to tell you my intentions. I know you and Father have thought little of such things save for Lyarra, but there is a girl I wish to marry and I believe you would approve.”

His mother blinked, processing all that he had told her. “Who has won your heart, Robb?”

“Lady Sansa,” he replied, a blush crawling along his cheeks. “I have told her that I wish to court her properly once she returns North. I will go to her father as soon as I am able to tell him my intentions. I have loved Sansa since we were children and I think she could learn to love me.”

Lady Catelyn smiled. She stood and took her son’s hands in her own. “Of course I approve,” she said. “Sansa is a sweet girl and would make a wonderful Lady of Winterfell. Although there can be no official announcement until she returns and her father gives his permission, in my heart I shall already see her as my good daughter.”

Robb smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”

As soon as he received his mother’s blessing, he wrote to Sansa, letting his heart spill into the parchment. He was not overly good at flowery language, he was a Northman after all, but he would try for her for a Northman could not expound so greatly at how much Robb cared for Sansa. 

_ My Dearest Sansa, _

_ It has felt like ages since I last saw you, although it had only been a few moons. Every night I pray to the Old Gods that you might come home soon. But still, I also pray that you might find enjoyment in the Southern heat. I also pray that Arya might not give you trouble and that Lyarra is settling well.  _

_ Things have been strained at Winterfell. You can guess the reasons why, but there are more things that have happened and I am not at liberty to share them with you in a letter. However, I can tell you that Bran is doing better. Nothing much has changed since he has woken, but the fact that he is awake is nothing less than good news. _

_ There is more, of course. _

_ I have spoken with my mother and she has told me that she would be open to a match between us she thinks of you as a daughter already and I believe it is something she had always hoped for us and I wonder, at times, if your mother had hoped for the same thing.  _

_ Dearest Sansa, I have missed you. The North is colder without you, your sister, and mine to brighten up the day. I fear we Northmen can be so very dower when the Stark and Poole girls are not amongst us.  _

_ Although I have written to my father and sisters already, give them my love and remind Lyarra that if she wishes to return North, her older brother will come South himself and speak to our father directly.  _

_ I await your reply and return.  _

_ Ever yours, _

_ Robb _

—

With his mother away, it was Robb’s duty to act as Lord of Winterfell. It was his duty with his father gone, but now he had no parent to go to for quick wisdom. He was alone. His mother’s worries about the Lannisters echoed in his mind as he was told that Tyrion Lannister had come to them on his way back to King’s Landing. Robb knew he had to show some hospitality or else the Imp might sense Lady Catelyn’s suspicions, but he also did not wish to treat the Lannister as he had been upon his first arrival to Winterfell. 

“I must say,” the Imp said with his annoying Southron accent, “I received a warmer welcome upon my last visit.” He stood before Robb and Maester Luwin with Grey Wind laying between them. 

Robb glanced to Yoren, who had accompanied the Imp to the keep. “Any man of the Night’s Watch is welcome at Winterfell.”

“Any man of the Night’s Watch, but not I, ey boy?”

Robb kept his temper down. “I’m not your boy, Lannister. I’m Lord of Winterfell while my father is away.”

“Then you might want to learn a lord’s courtesy.”

The door opens and Robb’s gaze shifted to Hodor carrying Bran with Theon behind them entering the Great Hall. 

“So it’s true,” he heard Tyrion say. “Hello, Bran.”

Robb’s fist tightened. He could almost hear Sansa whisper  _ courtesy  _ into his ear and her telling him to not frighten Bran. Gods, how he missed her. 

“Do you remember anything,” the Imp continued, “about what happened?”

Robb tensed, even though he already knew the answer. 

“He has no memory of that day,” Maester Luwin answered instead. 

“Curious,” the Imp replied. 

“Why are you here?” Robb asked, attempting to keep an even tone. 

Tyrion ignored him. “Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? he asked Bran. “My neck is beginning to hurt.”

“Kneel, Hodor,” Bran said kindly. 

The gentle giant did as he was bid and Robb had to suppress a smile. Hodor had been a great helper to Bran. It was nice that Bran was able to move around, even if it was not on his own. 

“Do you like to ride, Bran?” the Imp asked. 

“Yes.” Bran paused. “Well, I mean I did like to.”

“The boy has lost the use of his legs,” Maester Luwin interjected. 

“What of it?” the Imp replied. “With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple could ride.”

“I’m not a cripple,” Bran said tersely. 

“Then I’m not a dwarf,” the Imp said in mock amazement. “My father will rejoice to hear it.” He reaches into his cloak. “I have a gift for you.” He handed a scroll to Bran and the boy took it. “Give that to your saddler, he’ll provide the rest.”

Robb watched as Bran opened the scroll and looked at its content. 

“You just shape the horse to the rider,” Tyrion continued, shifting his gaze to Robb. “Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reigns and the boys voice.

“Will I really be able to ride?”

Robb’s heart broke. So much had been taken away from his brother. It was not fair. 

“You will,” the Imp assured. “On horseback you’ll be as tall as any of them.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” Robb asked, but he hoped it was not. “Why do you want to help him?”

“I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

Robb thought for a second. “You’ve done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours.”

“Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark,” the Imp said and Robb bristled. “There is a brothel outside your walls. There I’ll find a bed and both of us will sleep easier.” He left without being dismissed. 

Robb found he cared very little about that as he watched his younger brother smile at the saddle design in his grasp. 

—

Sansa wrote to Robb as well. Her pretty hand was familiar to him. This letter was different, however, for it came with something else. Robb unfolded the letter at his desk and saw a lock of copper hair tied with a thin ribbon of blue. His heart thundered in his chest at the sight of it and quickly poured over the content of her letter, holding the lock between his fingers, feeling its silkiness against his thumb and forefinger. 

_ Dearest Robb, _

His heart only beat faster. 

_ Dearest Robb, _

_ I have missed Winterfell and all the people who reside within its walls, but I have found that I miss you most of all. I am sad to say that the Old Gods have not heard your prayers, for this heat is almost unbearable. How I miss the coolness that comes from the North and the chill that comes in the fresh mornings of Winterfell. I was not made for the South, I fear none who have called Winterfell home could ever find themselves comfortable here.  _

_ Arya is just as troublesome as she has always been save she does not have you or Jon to keep after her. Lyarra is settling, but so much has happened. _

_ Robb, she cannot stay here. She has not told me in so many words, but she is unhappy here. I fear Lord Stark would reprimand me for sharing such information, but Lady is dead. Your lord father had to take her life and her fur and bones are being sent to Winterfell and should arrive shortly, I believe, after this letter has reached you. Arya had been playing with the butcher’s boy as she is want to do and he struck her arm when she was distracted. The prince had seen this and threatened the poor boy with violence. Arya could not stand for this and attacked the prince. He caught an upper hand and threatened violence upon her and Nymeria leapt in and bit the prince’s hand. Nymeria had fled and Lady was forced to take her place at the queen’s insistence. Robb, it was so very awful. Lyarra cried in my arms all night. How can your father allow her to stay in this place when there are those who would be cruel to her? He had not even offered to break or prolong the engagement. _

_ Forgive me, I do not wish to press such things upon you for I know you are busy with your duties. I am glad that Bran is doing better. It will be so sweet to see him again. Both he and Rickon both have been in my prayers for they are too young to understand all that is happening around them.  _

_ When you wrote to tell me that you have spoken with your mother, I thought it would be wise to speak to my father as well, if only to soften his glares for you when the time comes. He spoke highly of you and tells me that he will speak to your father as well. As you have seen, I have sent you a lock of my hair. It is a rather silly thing to do, but I am told it is a very Southron thing to do and since I am here, I might as well. It is something of mine that you might carry with you. I am told that many men wear it in a locket or have it sewn into a pocket of their undershirt. I shall not dictate what you are to do with it, for it is yours.  _

_ You were wrong you know. We would not be as your parents were. There is love between us. We have known each other since we were children. I cannot say that I love you as a brother, for that is a falsehood and I know you do not love me as a sister. The love we share is not of that cloth. Our love is so very different that I cannot claim it as friends or anything of that name. From you, I think that you love me as your father loves your mother, as my parents loved each other. From me, I do not know. But I believe this love that is for you can only grow. I have thought on your words as I have promised and wish to be with you, to grow into the people we long to be. I wish to be by your side and know you would wish to be by mine. I believe I could love you as a wife loves her husband. I believe it would be easy to do for I may be half there already.  _

_ Give my love to those who still reside in Winterfell and stay out of trouble. I shall be back North as soon as I am able and pray that I am able to return with more love to give you.  _

_ Love, _

_ Sansa _


	8. Lyarra II

Sansa returned with Lyarra’s shawl, escorted by an older man that she did not know. “He is a friend of your mother’s, my lady,” Sansa said. “She has mentioned him before. Lord Baelish.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened slightly. “Of course,” she tipped her head to the man. She also knew him to be the Master of Coin. “My mother spoke kindly of you, my lord. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

The man smiled, although it only barely reached his eyes as he looked Lyarra over before bowing his head. “The honor is mine, my lady.”

He and Sansa took their places in the stands behind Sansa and her father. 

“Where is Arya?” her father asked. 

“At her dancing lessons,” Lyarra replied. She wondered if her father would worry if she were gone as he did often for Arya. Lyarra smiled as she glanced a familiar sigil and armor. “The Knight of Flowers.”

Ser Loras Tyrell approached the stands, a red rose in hand. He smiled at Lyarra and it appeared true, nothing like the sneers she had received from the prince. Ser Loras appeared to smile for no other reason but for his want to. Lyarra found herself blushing and smiling back. He handed the rose to her and she took it carefully into her hand. 

“Thank you, Ser Loras,” she said kindly, looking at the rose in wonder. It was beautiful. She had only really seen winter roses, but the summer ones were just as pretty. 

He continued to smile and nodded his head before spurring his steed onward to stand in place next to the Mountain’s dark steed. Lyarra shivered. She had heard whispers of what the Mountain had done to his brother when they were children and it was just so horrible. She could not cheer for such a man. And then there were the  _ more than whisperers  _ about what the man had done to Queen Elia and her children. Lyarra knew that what Ser Jaime had done was a terrible thing, but Lyarra believed he had more honor that the Mountain does. From what she could see, Ser Jaime would never rape a woman’s corpse and kill her children in such a way that their own uncle could not recognize him. Even in her anger at her father, Lyarra found herself pressing her arm against his own. 

“Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she whispered to her father. Lyarra wrapped her arm around her father’s. 

“Hey…” Her father placed his hand gently over her own. He turned to her with concern in his eyes. 

“I cannot watch,” she admitted. 

“A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain,” came Lord Baelish’s voice. 

“I’ll take that bet,” Lord Renly replied. 

“Now what will I buy with a hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?”

“You could even buy a friend.”

“He’s going to die,” she whispered. Surely the Master of Coin would not bet if he were not certain. 

“Ser Loras rides well,” her father assured her. 

They watched as the joust began. The two knights charged one another and Lyarra could only watch in horror. Ser Loras’ lance splintered with the force he placed on the Mountain’s shield. The black horse lost its balance and tumbled against the railing that separated the two riders, the Mountain fell from his steed. 

Many stood up in alarm. 

“Such a shame, Littlefinger,” she heard Lord Renly taunt. “It would be so nice for you to have a friend.”

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having  _ your  _ friend?” She saw Lord Baelish lean towards Sansa. “Ser Loras knew his mare was in heat,” he told her. “Quite crafty.”

“Ser Loras would never do that,” Sansa said, meekly. “There is no honor in tricks.”

“No honor, quite a bit of gold.”

Lyarra’s stomach twisted painfully. The Mountain threw off his helmet. “Sword!”

Ser Loras was paying his respects to the king when the Mountain sliced the back of his horse’s neck, stopping at the bone. He then charged towards Ser Loras and knocked the knight to the ground. The Knight of Flowers had barely any time to lift his shield and block the Mountain’s blows. 

“Leave him be!” barked the Mountain’s brother. The Hound rushes off the podium the royal family sat at and raised his sword to stop his brother’s, pushing his brother’s sword away and keeping himself between the Mountain and the fallen knight. 

The two began to fight and Lyarra held her father more closely. It was awful. She feared for the Hound as she feared for Ser Loras. The Mountain has already killed twice that day. 

“Stop this madness in the name of your king!” Robert Baratheon roared. 

The Hound instantly knelt, his head missing his brother’s sword by mere inches. The Mountain remained standing, his face red with anger. He threw his sword down and stormed off. 

“Let him go!” the king ordered the White Cloaks who had been ready to intercept the knight. 

Ser Loras went to the Hound. “I owe you my life, Ser,” he said. 

“I’m not,  _ Ser _ ,” the Hound replied. 

Ser Loras took the Hound’s hand and lifted it, declaring his savior as the winner. Lyarra stood up and clapped. Perhaps there were true knights after all. 

—

Her father’s injury shocked everyone in the Hand’s household. While Lyarra feared for her father’s pain, she feared what cruelty Joffrey might inflict upon her now that her mother was holding his uncle captive. 

She worried, but at least there was some happiness to be had. Sansa confided in the three younger girls of the Hand’s household that there were talks of her marrying Robb. 

“But you love Jon,” Arya stated. 

“I do,” Sansa said. “But he does not love me.”

“So you’re just going to marry Robb then since you can’t have Jon?”

Lyarra rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t Arya understand that things were more complicated than that?

“I love Robb, not as much as I do Jon, but that can change. I thought myself in love with Robb once,” Sansa admitted. “I can learn to love him again. Your parents did not love each other when they met. They built it stone by stone. I… I think I could do that with Robb. He is so very easy to love, afterall.”

“You and I shall be sisters then,” Lyarra said with a smile. This thought had apparently not crossed Arya’s mind as she began smiling too. 

“We shall,” Sansa beamed. 

Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink and Lyarra could not help but be happy to see her smiling. Sansa had been so sad since leaving Winterfell, since Jon’s ultimate rejection of her. Now, she looked so soft and at peace. Perhaps she could be happy with Robb. Lyarra closed her eyes and she could see it, Robb and Sansa surrounded by copper and auburn hair children with the occasional child with dark hair. They would be happy.

“And Lady of Winterfell,” Jeyne added. 

The girls chuckled. 

“I suppose I will allow it,” Arya said. “If you are to be my sister then, I do not think I would want anyone else.”

—

Her father came to her and Arya in his solar, his cane knocking sharply on the floor as he came closer to them. Lyarra wondered what was wrong. 

“I’m sending you and the Poole girls back to Winterfell,” he said at last. 

“What?” Lyarra’s heart beat wildly in his chest. He was sending them home? Her engagement to the prince was over. Hope began to bloom. 

“Listen—”

“What about Joffrey?” she asked, fear beginning to take the place of hope. What if the engagement wasn’t over and they were simply extending it?

“Are you dying because of your leg, is that why you’re sending us home?” Arya asked and even more fear began to push out Lyarra’s hopes. 

“What?” Their father looked to Arya in confusion. “No.”

“Please, Father.” Let this be true. Let this be what Lyarra hoped it to be. 

“You can’t,” Arya said sternly. “I’ve got my lessons with Syrio. I’m  _ finally  _ getting good.”

“This isn’t a punishment,” her father said. “I want you all back in Winterfell for your own safety.”

“Can’t we take Syrio back with us?”

“Who cares about your stupid dancing instructor,” Lyarra cried. “I can’t go! The King wishes for me to marry Prince Joffrey. I am meant to be his queen and have his babies.” It is what her father had wanted, hadn’t it?

“Seven Hells,” Arya sneered. 

“When you’re old enough,” her father said, “I’ll make you a match with someone who’s worthy of you. Someone who is brave and gentle and strong.”

“So I do not have to marry him?” Lyarra asked. “The prince? I do not have to marry a lion or give him sons with golden hair?” She felt close to crying. 

“The lion’s not his sigil, you idiot,” Arya said. “He’s a stag, like his father.”

“He’s not,” Lyarra said pointedly. The king could be rude but he did not appear cruel. “He’s nothing like the king—not in looks or heart.”

She looked up and saw her father staring at her in awe. “Go on girls, get your septa and tell the Poole girls to pack their things as well.”

“But it’s not fair!” Arya cried out. 

Lyarra did not wish to argue with her father or sister and took Arya’s hand and took them to their rooms. They were going to leave. 

Lyarra smiled. 

She was going home. 


	9. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I turn 24 today!

When Sansa learned they were to return to Winterfell, she was thrilled. She would be returning to Robb. She did not believe they would marry right away, but there was a chance that they might. Sansa could imagine it, the two of them standing under the weirwood tree, saying their vows before the old gods and then going to the sept to repeat their vows before the Seven. He would look so very handsome in Stark grey and she in white. 

She could imagine a boy with curly red hair running about Winterfell as he caught snowflakes on his tongue. Sansa would want other children of course, but a son first. If she had any luck in the way of Lady Stark, she would be with child every other year or so. Sansa giggled. She would be exhausted and perhaps she would love Jon still, but in her heart she knew she would love Robb more as the years went on. 

“You appear in high spirits, my lady.”

Sansa turned and saw Lord Baelish coming towards her. He dismissed the men following him as he approached. She gave a small curtesy. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“And may I ask what has brought such a smile to your lips?”

“I am to return to Winterfell, my lord.”

His expression froze for only a moment before he blinked and he seemed to move once more. “Oh? I was under the impression that you were to stay with Lady Lyarra until she settles after the wedding.”

“That was the plan originally, however, Lord Stark has agreed with me that Lyarra is far too young to be married yet. A betrothal is one thing, especially in a time of peace.”

“And so you all are returning?”

“Yes.” Sansa blushed. “And I am to enter into a betrothal with Lord Stark’s eldest son, Robb. I have been writing to him often, even more so now that we are unofficially engaged.”

“Unofficially?”

“Betrothals are a little different in the North. For them to be official, the father of the bride and groom must sign a contract and then the bride and groom sign the contract as well. Lord Stark has already written a draft, I believe.”

“You must be excited.” There was something odd about his tone, but Sansa could not place the feeling. 

“I am. My family has always been loyal to the Starks and Lord Robb has always been kind to me.”

“Do you love him?”

Such an odd question to ask. 

“I care for him deeply. He’s one of my oldest friends, in truth. We grew up together.” She smiled. “Just like you and Lady Stark And Lady Arryn.”

“Yes…” Lord Baelish said carefully. “I suppose.”

Sansa smiled again. “I must take my leave now, Lord Baelish. I need to make sure Lady Arya has not gotten into too much trouble.” She gave a curtsy before hurrying off, returning to her daydream of what her life with Robb might be like. 

—

As Sansa, Jeyne, Lyarra, and Septa Mordane walked down the long hallway. 

“Your sister knew perfectly well we were leaving today,” the septa risked. “How she could forget…”

“She didn’t forget,” Lyarra said kindly. “She’s with her dancing master. She’s with him every morning, always coming back with scrapes and bruises. She’s so clumsy.”

Jeyne giggled. 

Sansa smiled but frown when she heard the sound of steel clashing together. 

“Hush!” Septa Mordane ordered. They listened for a moment. “Go back to your room. Sansa, bar the doors and do not open them for anyone you do not know.”

“What is it?” Lyarra asked. “What’s happening?”

“Do as I told you,” the septa replied calmly. “Run.”

Sansa grabbed her sister and Lyarra’s hands and ran with them back to their rooms. She ushered the girls inside. “Lock the door and do not open it for anyone who isn’t Northern. No one.”

“Where are you going?!” Jeyne cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I need to go get Arya and find Father,” Sansa said quickly. “Bar the doors and let no one in save for those we know we can trust.” She closed the door on them and waited until she heard the bar closed. 

Sansa rushed off, hoping that she might find Arya quickly. She entered the training area and cried out when she saw Arya’s dancing teacher and a couple Lannister guards dead on the floor. Tears began to sting her eyes and bile rose in her throat. No. Not now. 

She turned from the room and tried to go where her father might be. He was helping with the luggage. The castle itself felt to be in chaos but empty all at the same time. She couldn’t understand was happening. She couldn’t. Her lungs were on fire when she came to coaches. 

She arrived only to see her father run through with a sword. 

Sansa screamed and the Lannister soldiers turned to her. She turned to run but one grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. 

“He said to find the red haired one,” one of the soldiers said. 

“I’ve seen her with the Stark girl,” another said.

The hand in her hair tightened and Sansa whimpered, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Please…”

She felt something hit her head and everything went to black. 

—

Sansa dreamed of her mother brushing her hair and humming. 

“ High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones who had loved her the most… ”

Her expression pinched. That wasn’t her mother’s voice. Sansa forced herself to blink awake and found an older red headed girl above her, playing with her hair. 

Slowly, Sansa pushes herself up and looked at the woman in confusion. “Where am I?” Her voice was dry. “Who are you?”

“You’re in the Mockingbird,” the girl replied. “It’s a brothel owned by Littlefinger.”

Sansa blinked, still confused as her ears began to ring and her headache began to grow. Littlefinger? That was what some people called Lord Baelish. Wasn’t it?

“My name is Ros.” The girl smiled carefully. She was of the North, Sansa could tell by the slight accent. “And you are?”

“Sansa,” she answered carefully. “Sansa Poole.”

Ros’ eyes widened for a moment and then her eyes became soft. “Oh, you poor dear.”

It was only then that Sansa began to cry again and Ros pulled the younger girl into her arms and held her tightly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sansa...


	10. Jon III

Jon thought about what Pyp had said. Even so, he could not help but be angry. He wanted to be a ranger. He had come to Castle Black to be like his Uncle Benjen. Now, his uncle is gone, missing, and he is to serve as a steward instead of going out searching for him. Jon’s father had said that Benjen would look after him, well, shouldn’t Jon be doing the same?

“Now listen to me,” Sam said. “The old man is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You'll be with him day and night. Yes, you'll clean his clothes. But you'll also take his letters, attend him at meetings, squire for him in battle. You'll know everything, be part of everything. And he asked for you himself. He wants to groom you for command.”

Jon had not thought of that. In his dreams he had longed to head a castle like Winterfell with, in his more secret dreams, Sansa at his side with red and dark haired children running about them. But it wasn’t to be. 

“I just,” Jon sighed. “I always wanted to be a ranger and now with my uncle…”

Sam shrugged. “I always wanted to be a wizard.”

Jon paused and then laughed.

“What?” Sam looked confused. “No, I’m serious. So you’ll stay and say your words with me!”

Jon sighed. “Of course I will, Sam. Of course.”

—

While, as the Lord Commander’s steward, Jon spent plenty of times in Lord Mormont’s chambers, this was the first time he had been called in outside the usual duties. Jon entered and found Jeor Mormont reading a letter. 

The man looked weary as he glanced up to Jon. “Bring me a horn of ale, Snow. Pour one for yourself.”

Jon narrowed his eyes in confusion but did as he was told. He went over and took the jug of ale, which had caused him to cough and sputter when he had first had a taste, and grabbed two horns, beginning to fill them. 

“The King is dead,” the Lord Commander said. 

Jon froze in surprise.he finished filling the horns and took them both over to Lord Mormont, giving him one. 

“Is there any word of my father?” Jon asked nervously. 

“Sit.”

Jon did as he was told. He felt like a boy again, being reprimanded for stuffing snow down Theon’s shirt or tracking in mud with Robb. 

“Lord Stark has been charged with treason. They say he conspired with Robert's brothers to deny the throne to Prince Joffrey.”

Jon felt himself grow cold. Colder than the wall. He held out his hand, not even asking for the letter. Lord Mormont gave it to him and Jon began reading. With every line he told himself it was a lie. His father wouldn’t do something like this. Not without reason. Not without getting the girls out. 

The girls. 

Sansa. 

Jon stood abruptly and headed for the door. 

“I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything stupid. Your duty lies here now.”

Jon froze.  I shall take no wife. Nor a woman’s love.  But this was different. It wasn’t just because of Sansa. What if Lyarra and Arya, or even Jeyne. They were innocent of anything his father might or might not have done. 

“My sisters were in King’s Landing too,” he breathes. 

The Lord Commander looked only slightly worried. Even so, he hesitated before speaking again. “I'm sure they'll be treated gently.”

Jon wasn’t convinced. He had not liked the look of Prince—King Joffrey when he saw the boy in Winterfell. He did not like him. Nor trust him as far as Jon could through him. 

He worried. He worried for his father. He worried for his sisters. He worried for Jeyne. He worried for Sansa. 

He worried what this would mean for the North. 

—

He dreamed of Sansa again. She was calling to him and crying for Robb. Her hair flowed down her head like a river of blood. She was screaming and crying for help. For someone to save her. He tried desperately to reach her but he was being swallowed by snow and flames. Ice and fire.

She was surrounded by mockingbirds. They surrounded her like flies and screeched at her, covering her screams until Jon couldn’t hear her voice anymore.

Then, she was surrounded by dragonflies. 

Jon awoke to Ghost pawing and scratching at the door. He sat hot to look at his direwolf. The beast seemed on edge. Ghost began growling and snarling at something on the other side of the door. 

He got up from bed. “Ghost, what's wrong? Is something out there?”

Worried about what his direwolf might be sensing, Jon put on his weapon belt and let them both leave his quarters. Ghost bounded towards Lord Mormont’s chambers, growling all the way. 

“Commander?” Jon called, entering the room. Ghost began to follow him. “Stay.” The beast obeyed while Jon continued forward. The inner door was slightly ajar and Jon entered carefully, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to pull it out if necessary. “Hello?” Something felt wrong. “Who’s there?” The bed chamber door was ajar as well. “Lord Commander?”

The door of the outer chamber slammed open and Jon looked in horror as he saw the corpse of Othor coming towards him. The man grabbed Jon by the neck and shoved him up against the wall. Beginning to lose breath, Jon pulled out his knife and stabbed Othor repeatedly in the side, but it didn’t phase him. Jon managed to break Othor’s grip and punched him in the face. Othor fell back slightly and Jon drew his sword to slice off Ofhor’s hand, which, again, didn’t phase him. The man skewed Jon by the throat with his remaining hand, growling and shoving him up against the wall. Jon stapled Othor in the heart, causing him to fall. 

Jeor Mormont emerged from his bedchamber carrying a lantern. “Snow?!”

“Commander!” Jon exclaimed in relief. 

Othor game bar along towards them. Jon rushed towards the Lord Commander and grabbed his lantern, burning his hand, but it didn’t matter, and threw it at Othor. The man caught fire and fell to the ground, growling as he burned. 

“Move!” Jon shouted. “Move!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to start updating every Wednesday now! ❤️


	11. Robb III

Robb sat in the great hall reading and rereading Lyarra’s letter. 

_ Robb,  _

_ I write to you with a heavy heart. Our good king Robert is dead, killed from wounds he took in a boar hunt. Father has been charged with treason. He conspired with Robert's brothers against my beloved Joffrey and tried to steal his throne. The Lannisters are treating me very well and provide me with every comfort. I beg you: come to King's Landing, swear fealty to King Joffrey and prevent any strife between the great houses of Lannister and Stark.  _

_ Your faithful sister, _

_ Lyarra _

He looked up at Maester Luwin. “Treason?” Robb could not believe that his father would do such a thing without reason, without getting the children in his care out of King’s Landing. “Lyarra wrote this?”

“It is your sister's hand,” the maester admitted. “But the Queen's words. You are summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new King.”

“Joffrey puts my father in chains, now he wants his ass kissed?” The little… Robb had never liked him, even before Sansa’s letters to him.

“This is a royal command, my lord,” Luwin warned. “If you should refuse to obey—”

“I won't refuse,” Robb interjected. “His Grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone.” He folded up the letter and gave it to the maester. “Call the banners.”

“All of them, my lord?”

“They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?”

He could see the respect in the maester’s eyes. “They have.”

“Now we see what their words are worth.”

Maester Luwin gave a small nod and walked away. Robb sat down next to Theon.

“Are you afraid?” Theon asked. 

Robb glanced at his hand and realized it was shaking. “I must be.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

Theon smiled. “It means you're not stupid.”

Robb took a deep breath and nodded. He couldn’t be stupid. Not with his father, his sister, Sansa and hers at risk. 

—

They had been camped outside the Twins for what felt like weeks, but knew it wasn’t that long. He hated old man Frey for not seeing that time was of the essence. If the honorable Ned Stark could be imprisoned, the old man should see he was in danger of something as well. 

Robb looked up from the map at his mother’s approach. “Well?”

“Lord Walder has granted your crossing.”

He sighed in relief and exchanged a smile with Greatjon. 

“His men are yours as well,” his mother continued. “He will keep four hundred men here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you.”

It seemed too good to be true. “And what does he want in return?”

“You will be taking on his son Olyvar as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood in good time.”

“Fine fine.” He wasn’t even a knight. What did it matter. Surely the boy had some promise if his father was putting him forward. Robb looked at his mother and knew the look on her face. “And?”

His mother looked irritated. “And Arya will marry his son Waldron when they both come of age.”

Robb arched an eyebrow as Theon laughed. “She won’t be happy about that.” There was still something his mother wasn’t saying. “And?”

His mother took a fortifying breath. “And, when the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer.” Theon stopped laughing. “He has a number he thinks will be… suitable.”

Robb felt his stomach twist into a knot. “Did you tell him I was already engaged?”

His mother closed her eyes. “A contract was never signed, Robb.”

“You and Father and hers all agreed to it.” He had a lock of her hair in a locket near his heart. 

“Robb, you have to understand. Word was sent that most of the household was—”

“No.” His heart pounded against his chest. Against the locket. “She is  _ not  _ dead.”

“Robb.”

“No.” He knew he sounded like a child and he hated it. “I need a moment.”

He stepped out of the tent and heard Theon come behind him.  

“Robb—” his friend began. 

“She’s not dead.”

“Maybe not. She was a steward’s daughter. There’d be no reason to kill her.”

There would be no reason to keep her alive either. But surely he would have felt it surely Lyarra would have said something in her letter. Sansa couldn’t be dead. She  couldn’t  be. 

Robb closed his eyes. Sansa…

“Agree to it.”

Robb’s eyes opened and he looked at the Ironborn incredulously. “What?”

“Agree to it and, when the  war  is over you can go ahead and marry Sansa.”

“You would have me break a vow?”

“Sansa said your father had already written a contract. It might have been signed by her father already. It would hold more so than any contract your mother  _ might  _ create.”

“And if there isn’t a contract in the Red Keep.”

“Sleep with her and say you’re honorbound to marry her.”

“Theon!” 

“And if she’s dead, this may be the only way to avenge her.”

“She’s not dead.”

“We’ll never know until we get through the Twins.”

Robb thought for a moment and returned to the tent. 

His mother stood waiting for him. “Do you consent?”

“Can I refuse?”

“Not if you want to cross.”

Robb thought of Sansa’s lips pressed against his cheek. “Then I consent.” He looked to his mother. “Tell Lord Frey that I agree to his terms.” His mother nodded and turned to leave. “Mother?” She paused at the entrance and looked back at him. “Tell him she can’t have red hair.”

His mother’s eyes were full of sorrow, but she nodded anyway. 

Robb put his hand over the locket and prayed to all the gods of Westeros that Sansa would be waiting for him once he reached King’s Landing.

—

When they caught the Kingslayer, Robb thought he would feel something, thought he would be able to breathe knowing he was one step closer to his father, his sisters, and Sansa. But all he felt was the metal of blood on his tongue and the weariness he felt in his bones. 

He didn’t pray anymore, save to find Sansa again to hold her one more time. The dream felt as fleeting. As a Northern spring or the end of this war. 

Robb closed his eyes and let himself wander into that dream. Of Winterfell filled with red haired children and Sansa on his arm. He opened his eyes. 

It was a beautiful dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Robb 😢


	12. Lyarra III

Lyarra watched as Ser Barristan stormed from the throne room. Her heart fluttered in her chest. This would be her chance to speak. She didn’t care what happened to her anymore. All she wanted was for her father to be free. For Arya to be free. For Sansa and Jeyne to be free, wherever they were. 

The royal steward stepped forward. “If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.”

Lyarra caught the queen’s eye. She had said that Joffrey might listen. Might see reason. She prayed that the woman was right. She stepped forward. “Your grace?”

The king smiled almost kindly and motioned towards her. “Come forward, my lady.”

Lyarra slowly did as she was told and stood before the iron throne. 

“The Lady Lyarra of House Stark,” the steward announced and the room grew quiet. 

“Do you have some business for the king and the council, Lyarra?” The queen asked.

“I do.” She went down on her knees, not caring about the dress she wore. It was Lannister red. She had hoped that such an obvious declaration of loyalty would be noted. “As it please, your grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was Hand of the King.”

“Treason is a noxious weed,” Maester Pycelle said through pursed lips. “It should be torn out, root—”

“Let her speak.” Joffrey said, irritated. “I want to hear what she says.”

Lyarra smiled as kindly as she could. “Thank you, your grace.”

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Lord Baelish asked. 

Lyarra’s stomach churned. Was this man not her mother’s friend? Should he not be speaking for her instead of against?

“No, my lords,” she pleaded. “I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him; you all know he loved him.” The queen appeared to be listening. “He never wanted to be Hand until the King asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!”

“He said I wasn't the king,” Joffrey said. “Why did he say that?”

“He was badly hurt,” Lyarra said quickly. “Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of poppy.”

The king looked to the maester and Lyarra felt vindication at the guilty look the man gave.

“He wasn't himself,” Lyarra continued. “Otherwise he never would have said it.” Not without making certain she and the other children were safely away. 

She watched as the king pondered her words. 

“A child’s faith,” Lord Varys said. “Such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes.”

Lyarra could not breathe. She wondered if she might garner sympathy for fainting. 

“Treason is treason!” Pycelle shouted.

“Anything else?” Joffrey asked. 

Lyarra took a quick breath. “If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness, your grace.”

She waited for him to come to a decision. Surely this was enough. Surely this would save her father. 

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the king...or there'll be no mercy for him.”

She knew her father would do it. He would do it for Arya’s sake. Hopefully for hers as well. “He will.”

—

Lyarra sat in her room. 

She had not seen her sister since they broke their fast of the morning her father was arrested. She had not seen Sansa since she went looking for Arya and her father. She had not seen Jeyne since they took her away from Lyarra. 

She prayed to the old gods and the new that Robb knew she meant nothing of what she said in her letter and prayed that she might take any punishment that would be cast on her family. 

“I’m no longer a wolf,” she said to herself. Lady was gone. Perhaps it was her duty to become a stag or a lion or whatever the king truly was. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

She closed her eyes. Let her be the only one who need stay in King’s Landing. Let her friends and family be free.

—

Lyarra watched as her father was brought out by two men of the city watch. Her heart ached as she watched him limp along as the people screamed at him calling him a traitor and a coward. Her father. Her father was none of those things. He was brave and gentle and strong. He was not a traitor. He was not a coward. 

The crowd grew quiet as the bells rang through the air as her father stood facing them.

“I am Eddard Stark,” he said, his voice clear and true. “Lord of Winterfell. And Hand of the King.”

He looked at Lyarra and she smiled and nodded to him.  _ Please _ , she thought.  _ Please let my words be enough to save him. Let me die in this city instead and take your place as Lady took Nymeria’s.  _

“I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and Men,” he continued. 

Lyarra his her breath of relief. He would be given mercy. She held back her tears. He would be given mercy. 

“I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son.... and seize the Throne for myself.”

The crowd grew angry and something was thrown at her father’s head and Lyarra gasped. Could they not give him peace? Could they not see he was saying this to protect her, to protect her sister. To protect those he held dear?

The Hound steadied him and pushed him forward.

“Let the high Septon and Baelor the blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the Grace of all his gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Maester Pycelle stepped forward. “As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful. What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

The people began to shout, but Joffrey raised his hand to silence them, a smile on his lips. 

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stipped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Lyarra,” he looked to her. She smiled at him. Perhaps she could learn to be a good wife and queen to him, “has begged mercy for her father. But they have the soft hearts of women, as long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished.” The smile slips from Lyarra’s lips. Joffrey turned. “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.”

“No!” Lyarra screamed. She rushed forward to hold her father to beg to plead, but she was held back and she tried to get to him. “No! Stop him! Please!”

People rushed towards Joffrey, begging him to take back the command. 

Ser Ilyn drew Ice and approached her father who was forced on his knees. 

“Stop it!” Lyarra screamed over the roar of the crowd. “Stop!” She looked at her father and found his gaze on her. “Father! Father! No! Please!” He looked away. Tears began to stream down her cheeks “Father!” 

Her father bowed his head and muttered something, his eyes closed and Ser Ilyn brought his sword down. 

“No!” 

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Contact us on Tumblr at “fromtheboundlesssea” and “angmarwitch”


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